


To the Sand Goes the Riches

by Storm337



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Ah king au, Concept, Mad King Ryan, king AU, rt king au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storm337/pseuds/Storm337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mad King's curiosity and intelligence was known through all the lands, by all who had heard and shivered at his name. As great a thing as it was, it was also a great weakness.<br/>He had played right into the vipers mouth and the poison was hot as it swam in his blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Sand Goes the Riches

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Description of decaying bodies and creepiness

It had been such a terrible gamble, he thought, going so far out into the desert lands of the South-East Kingdom.

It was nothing but sand dunes for miles and miles, with the occasional oasis surrounded by a tiny village or town. He had stayed at only one decent town to rest for the night and get some more food and water. Eyes had watched him the entire time, fascinated and awed and ominous, shrouded by capes and hoods to keep the blazing sun at bay. More than once had he seen his mount being inspected by shady figures, their fingers drifting over the fine hide of his bull to the leather pouches and bags, only to retreat when he came near. They stayed off to the side, in his peripheral vision, a constant sore sight among the palm fronds and yellow sand. He vaguely wondered if it would have been a good idea to bring guards along with him, but dismissed it eventually when the town was nothing but a tiny shimmering dot behind him, easy to mistake for a mirage.  
He was not called the Mad King of the North for nothing. He could take care of himself, and all should be aware of that, no matter which kingdom they came from.

Ryan was revered for his cleverness and creativity in battle and smart, impromptu moves while on the front lines. His curiosity and intelligence was known through all the lands, by all who had heard and shivered at his name.  
As great a thing as it was, it was also a great weakness. One that had landed him out in the middle of this god forsaken desert in the first place.

The Archer King of these lands was hyper and childish, a constant pain in the sides of the others that shared this continent with him. He was persuasive and crafty, using charm and promise to lure victims in. He had seen, on more than one occasion, those sea glass eyes roaming through the court room of the Drunkard King Geoff's castle during their conferences, eying the other kings like a rattlesnake to a desert pocket mouse, ready to spring from his cover of heat and snatch his prey with dripping fangs. At the last meeting he had met those eyes, and before the Mad King was able to escape, the crafty young spirit had swept over him like a dust devil. The conversation had started innocently enough, but he was no fool, not like Gavin was known to be. He had not messed around with formalities, brushing the inquires of his kingdom and health aside to get to the real topic.

 _Finding the map was an accident._  
Gavin had said as he passed the wrinkled, old parchment over to the North's ruler, pressing it demandingly into his hand.

 _I thought of you._  
He'd whispered, a sly grin stretching over his face as he worked his fingers deftly over the paper, opening it up for Ryan to see. Worn by time and harsh winds, the map was detailed and intricate, strict instructions that lead across the formidable desert wastelands the creeper slayer called home.  
  
_A temple is out there._  
Gavin explained, folding the map up again and swiftly snatching it, tucking it into the belt of his kilt, hand lingering on the fabric.  
__  
No one knows what is in it.  
Those had been his parting words, and instantly the curiosity and urge to simply know had snatched him. He was no fool, and on occasion the Archer King proved to not be as well. As the green clad man of the desert had sauntered away to find more prey to sink his wicked fangs into, he had lightly tucked the map into his vest pocket, knowing for sure he would need to prepare for the journey well. He had played right into the vipers mouth and the poison was hot as it swam in his blood.

It took weeks before he decided to venture out, most of that time spent in his personal library, sifting through the old books of the desert lands, looking for any information on the location or the map he'd received. Temples were a thing of the past, used to praise the gods, many knew that. Sandstone in the desert, mossy rock in the north and south-west, and large hidden structures in the plains and light woods of the center. Tales traveled around the world, rumors of hidden treasures and walking skeletons meant to protect the deserted monuments of all kinds. The ones in the plains had been easier to find, glaringly obvious across the rolling hills where cow and sheep were herded, and mostly pretty empty. A few had been found in the dense forests of his land, and only one reported in the South-West Kingdom of the fascinating Rose King Ray, though not more exciting than the plain temples. Jungle temples and desert temples were nothing but rumors, no evidence of their actual existence up until now. He was suspicious, of course, but excited none the less. Gavin was a trickster, but would he have put so much time and effort into making the map, making it look so authentic and old and worn for a simple prank?  
There was, of course, only one way to find out, the way he had been planning on going from the start, so he simply took it.  
He'd saddled up weeks ago and headed out, leaving the mountains and chill of his home for the promise of riches and knowledge.

Thus, there he was, hunched over his prized mount Edgar, lumbering across the baking desert, taking a gamble because he could not stand the thought of not knowing when the way was so neatly laid out for him. The map was tucked into his sporran at the moment, reassuringly within easy reach at all times, though unneeded at this point. From here it was simply going straight, following the constellation of the chaos god's mighty fuse in the sky. The stars shone brightly, the new moon sitting steadily above, an inky sphere helping guide him along. The chill of the night reminded him and his mount of home, quickening the process thanks to the familiarity. Descending over the sand dunes behind him, the sun was given the opportunity to take the sky back over the horizon, stretching lazily into the air, chasing away the night of its twin's domain.

The sunrise illuminated the blocky silhouette of the temple, half rising from the sand dunes, decorated sandstone blocks nearly blending with the loose grains of the desert.  
So, Gavin had not lied to him.  
He spurred Edgar along, heart pounding with tentative excitement and adrenaline. Of course the Mad King had speculated, not expecting to find anything grand out in the desert. The temple, what he could see of it at least, was more impressive than what he had dreamt up while battling the rays of the sun. It had two towers on either side of it, a stout main structure nestled in between, just peeking through the sand. Harsh winds had destroyed the delicate work of carvings on one side of the temple, but the other was, more or less, intact. Stained orange clay had been set into the framework, seemingly at random, but then again Ryan was no expert on archeology, no matter how fascinating he found it.

It was Edgar that found the hole in the top of the middle structure, set right into the roof, descending into darkness. The bull pawed at the ground, scraping away at the sandstone blocks with clear disapproval. Ryan patted his friend carefully before dismounting, brushing the rest of the sand away from the hole with his shoe. Edgar shook his head, butting him in the back with his forehead, long, sharp horns framing the king as he peered into the depths of the temple contemplatively. Much to the bull's displeasure, his master was pulling rope and supplies from his bags, preparing to descend into the unknown that caused him agitation and fear. The animal gave a weak attempt of steering Ryan away, using the position of his horns on either side of the king's body to shove and direct him, but Ryan would not have it and shoved him away. He laid himself down in the shadiest spot he could find, the heat of the sand under his belly not as comforting as it could have been. Brown, wide eyes watched as the King of the North tied a rope to one of the towers tightly, tested it, lit a torch, and began to descend into the temple. He snorted and swatted his tail, ready to wait.

Stale, musty air invaded his nose and dust swept up from the walls. The torch barely sliced through the dark sitting around in the temple, not wishing to leave after it had settled for who knew how many years. The sandstone on the inside was even more decorated than that on the outside, more time and energy put into them. The carvings were more detailed, more defined and even painted, depicting the gods of the desert and the winds and the sun. He touched down lightly on the ground, torch set down as he untied the rope from his waist. The room was not too large, but cold and deep under the sands. Pillars of crumbling stone held it up and, as he turned a full circle, the main entrance that most likely went to the towers had caved in long ago. Those did not interest him though. Nothing would be in those but perhaps old armor and weapons.  
No, the Mad King was looking for things far more valuable than relics. Books were on the top of Ryan's list, maps and parchment with secrets and runes inscribed on them, hopefully those that explained the cursed magic of old days. After that was the usual that all looked for; gems and jewels and the finest of things.

He paced the walls, gently running one hand over the carvings, fingers dipping in and out of the lines. They followed the story of gods and of priests, of the lands and of the beginning. His calloused pads met men and women and divine, tracing their curves and edges with the light care of a man who cherished history. The King of the North was glad he had decided to touch instead of simply gaze, for the button was hidden from sight. Ryan's fingers met resistance as he followed the outline of the chaos god's fuse, a large circular stone set into the lighted end of it. Curved fingernails dug under it, gently lifting the circle away where it clattered loudly to the ground, stirring up sentiment. The button was smooth and old, cold to the touch. It gave with soft pressure. The fuse he had followed instantly lit up with a soft red light, filling up the lines till the chaos god was illuminated by it. The eyes of the carving flashed briefly before the light went out and the piercing grind of stone on stone echoed in the chamber. The god split in two, the stone moving back and then behind the walls, vanishing from sight as another chamber was revealed.

The deep, bone chilling cold that ran out of the room had him shivering in his kilt, the torch flickering and threatening to go out. The dark expanded out, almost challenging in its depth, attempting to lure him in despite the ominous smell that wafted out through the gritty air. He was still the Mad King of the North though, a man that had built his throne through hard work and crafty surprises. He could take care of himself. He had let the viper snatch him, had let the poison fill his veins, and now he was going to get the antidote.  
Sharp blue eyes narrowing, Ryan strode into the room with determination and stubbornness.  
He only hesitated when the light rumble of stone being moved sounded out again, from all around him this time. He spotted a torch on one of the pillars nearby and approached cautiously, laying his other hand on the hilt of his sword. The old torch caught easily and suddenly the entire room was lit, other torches coming to light, set off by some strange reaction he did not understand red stone perhaps? Questions on why that was possible fled when the man took in the room fully, most importantly its occupants.

The sound had been stone coffin lids behind lifted. Creaking skeletons, dressed in the eaten and decayed remains of priest robes, rose sluggishly from their resting places. It was a crypt, his brain supplied none too helpfully as the figures rose from their sleep. Empty eye sockets focused on him and, dropping the torch, the king brandished his weapon, his other hand grasping a potion dangling from his side. He was expecting for them to surge at him for interrupting their slumber, for invading the temple. He was not expecting the chatter of their teeth or the shaking clatter of their bones rattling. Were they...laughing? Yes, it did seem so. The dead were not making any advancements, simply sitting on or standing next to their coffins, rattling together as one. It stopped gradually, the sounds subsiding before the whispers began, shivers running up and down his spine at the hollow, wise, raspy voices.

_A king stands before us!_  
_A king, yes yes, a king._  
_Wise king, noble king!_  
_Not of the deserts, not of the deserts._  
_The Center? The West?_  
_The North, the North, look at his tartan!_  
_A king, a king! Graced by the presence of a king are we._  
_Your title, king, your title oh king._  
_What shall we call you?_

Ryan Haywood, the Mad King of the North.

Sliding his sword back into its sheath on his hip sounded louder than it actually was to him, the silence after the overlaying talk discomforting. Mad King was not exactly the most...accurate, but Ryan didn't care very much. It stabbed fear into hearts around the continent. He would keep it for that reason only. The skeletons clattered and chattered again, slamming their hands together in mock clapping, the rattle of bones unpleasing to the ear.  
They started all at once, springing into jerky movement, prompting Ryan to step back into the door way, suspiciously eying the dead as they busied themselves about the room. Pots were opened and looked into before being moved, dust was swept away and rocks were moved till what he had assumed was debris turned into a large, cracked table with stone chairs around it.  
Slabs were moved from the ground, a large, heavy coffin of rusted iron pulled from the depths. The skeletons worked together, ungraceful and barely coordinated as they put the heavy thing down on the table before taking seats around it. They clapped their hands again and rattled their bones, stirring up the dust and sending fragments of cloth to the ground.

_Mad King of the north-_  
_North; most frigid kingdom-_  
_Meet our master, the high priest-_  
_He will give you what you seek!_  
_Questions questions questions._

The lid came flying off, shattering to tiny pieces as a half skeletal, half rotten flesh clad fist stretched in the air. The skeletons swayed round and round in their seats, moving as one, rattling their bones faster and faster. For a moment he worried they would shake themselves apart into pieces. The figure that rose from the center coffin was taller, more preserved but still grotesque. Dead flesh and wrinkly, leather skin clung to the bones of the high priest. He climbed from his coffin and towered over all of them, bowing with a rickety creak to the Mad King , pieces of his more high-end robes falling around him. He rose a hand and it silenced the rest of the skeletons, whom jerked their limbs as they waited in an ominous excitement. The high priest strode down the table and onto the ground, face to face with Ryan, empty sockets meeting a cold, hardened blue gaze.  
He couldn't help but smirk though, nodding softly as he put his hands on his hips.

_I will answer your questions, all the questions you have._

What do you know of roses?

**Author's Note:**

> Another little concept thing I wrote out for the AHCursedKings!Au.   
> Probably happens sometime before Delicacy of the Rose Petal.


End file.
